I'm Still Remembering
by OurLadyoftheBonBons
Summary: She was here for a reason, wasn't she?  This idea has been haunting me, please review!
1. Chapter 1

This story has been nagging at my brain since I finally bought AC 1 and 2. So please read and review. I'll no doubt have a brainwave and put another up, but I love reviews (hint hint)

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><p><em>I'm coughing up blood. Before I could justify it. But this is something more. It's not the light colouration of the glance of tooth on my tongue. That spat aside after catching a punch to my cheek and jaw. It had me bent over and hacking into my hands, I could feel the coagulated lumps in my mouth. It tastes like lead all the time. But things are blurry, I forget what I'm doing, find myself speaking out loud, to someone not present. I force myself into routine, but I seem to lose myself in the middle of an action. I 'wake' as if my body has gone on autopilot. I find myself scanning the rooves around me, I don't even know what I look for. I get tired too quickly, trying to push through it just makes me wheeze. Wheezing turns into coughing, coughing turns to a life and death struggle to gain a single gasp of air. It could be anything, a slight infection, but it could be worse, tuberculosis, emphysema.<em>

*They have that now right?*

The figure was sitting on the bench, their head in their hands, fingers even clutching at their hair. Originally it had been shared, but the mannerisms and the soft mutterings had frightened the other users away. In a flash they had gathered their feet, they were still for nearly a heartbeat before they had disappeared into the crowd. The bench was reclaimed and the figure was just a memory.

_I saw him. I think it was him. I hope it was him. Not a phantom out the corner of my eye? No I saw it. A flicker of white, the flap of a dove's wing. But no, there was a figure there. It seemed nearly nonchalant. Nearly, but I had seen the foolish placement of the chest, barely hidden from view under the bench in the roof top garden. I pushed up slightly on my legs to watch. He must have known it was there too. He had appeared and moved straight for it. But I knew something he didn't. The guard had taken to this roof top, for below gave a costless view into the courtesans corner. He was gone as quickly as the pigeons fluttered away in fear. The guard had guts and leapt after, hands dancing in indecision, sword or bow, arrow or blade. It took no thinking, I got to my feet and took the few running steps to the edge and kept my feet as I landed. He had done the hard work, the chest was unlocked if not open. I took everything inside and shoved the handfuls into my clothing before I darted away; hand snatching the stale bread left out for the birds. This I stuffed into my mouth._

Shaking fingers counted the coins, hidden away in a nearly awkward arrangement of angled roofs. It was good, it was enough. Every so often the covered face lifted, checking, looking for any observer. Their jaw moved, chewing savagely at hard bread. Crumbs exploded as teeth worried and tore at the edge of the small loaf. But there was happiness in those eyes, food was welcome. Anything. Even that left behind for birds. But the rough crumbs, recklessly inhaled had them coughing. Their back arched, twisted as they fought to expel whatever caused such pain. Flecks of blood on the corner of the hastily grabbed cloak. But a particularly harsh cough had a larger globule land. Shocked eyes looked at the telltale sign that whatever it was, was getting worse. Their eyes watered, the trails lighter as they slid down the frozen face.

_I don't know what to do. I don't know where to go. Even closing my eyes to think, hoping for my mind to conjure up an image of something. Of safety. But there is nothing there but blank, I can't remember a thing. The only thing I do know, is that even though the armourer looked at me more than askance, the balance of that knife was beautiful, with my hand and mind behind it I was no longer a victim or prey. I was higher on the food chain. But only if I could stop coughing up pieces of my lungs. I still had a fair amount of money left, the clothing I had I had stolen, hung out to dry, but taken to be dyed to the tailor. My unkempt appearance had nearly got me thrown from the stall, but the flash of my coins had the man more than willing to help. I was never going to be one of the courtesans, their out there beauty wasn't my style, I liked the darker shadows, the roofs especially. But every time I rested against a wall to catch my mostly uncatchable breath I remembered that figure, clad in white and I keep thinking that I should know him, or I should…something. The haze that comes when I can't catch my breath seems to cloud harsher around my mind, sometimes I stumble over my own feet._

A few older women looked at the figure, seeing their own children in the poor stature, but none offered aide, especially when the stairs to the canal seemed to surprise them. A stumble turned into a trip, pure chance saved the figure from a cold dowsing. They heaved in breath, fingers not ceasing from their death hold on the cement wall. It's mouth twitched, whispers only audible to themselves past those bitten sore lips.

_I just want someone to save me. But even as I thinkthese words, said those words, I know that I had to save myself. I was alone here._

*I can do this. I have done this.*

_Clambering to my feet and convincing my hands to release without severe cramp was hard. The laughter that was slow to die at my pathetic stumble had only started to abate, but that didn't annoy as much as my poor balance and that part of the cloak I had ripped free. More rust brown now than green. I needed it again as I moved off, my rasping breath had drawn more blood from my glass splintered throat. But the next few seconds would have me forgetting anything else._

The yells from the guards had everyone turning, the taint of blood in the air was something that only a few seemed to notice and place. It was bright red, arterial, some of it had splattered uncontrollably on the running figure's robes, some seemed to well from under the robes. The figure spun, it too had recognised that scent. It seemed to further more action. At the quick movement, the cloak fell down, but the almost angrily tied back hair did not cross those now narrowed pale green eyes. Instead they racked across the vision in front of them. The scrunched up hankerchief was dropped and instead the knife was held there underhand, hidden by a seeming accidental fold of fabric. There were three of the faster, lightly armed guards right on the tail of the man. And he was heading for a narrow building with no way out or up. The figure seemed not to move, but appeared in the short gap between the sprinting figure and the blowing guards. The cloak swirled up as if caught in a breeze, it caught everyone's attention, including the guards. Beneath the suddenly billowing material the knife moved like it could sever the air itself. The figure was dancing. For the first there was no defence, he had expected nothing, all attention on the running suspect. But now the straining neck was no longer taut and his exhalation was coloured in red. The second ran into the already dead body of the first. The knife thundered in and out of his stomach and chest. Puncturing the stomach and both lungs. The last knew something was up and his sword was leading his charge. The figure seemed to watch the sword in disinterest, it was patted away like a lazy fly, and the knife was inside his guard and then inside his neck. The cloak fell, covering the three bodies and as it settled the first scream sounded. The figure spun away, not following the already gone shadow. This time with utter purpose guiding footsteps. The balance was perfect and muscles and movements that seemed effortless saw the figure up and over their heads and gone. The ragged and bloodstained cloak now the shroud of the three men.

_My throat hurt. My lungs hurt. But despite that, despite the fact that I had killed three men, I felt nothing but thanks that the man had managed to flee. I felt some sorrow at the ending of those lives, but it seemed worth it. And I didn't know why. I looked at the blade in my hand. It seemed to have a life beat of its own, almost sentient. It winked at me, but I knew that it was the sun hitting the still wet blood. I knew I had done it before and could do it again. I looked to the sky and saw the circling eagle. It called as if lonely, calling for something below maybe only it could see. I sighed and slid the knife back into the cloth belt around my waist. I knew I couldn't stay here, I had to go further. But it didn't worry me, and I found my mind hoping that the blood that had welled from beneath his clothes was not from a deathly wound. I did not question why it would worry me._

**Yes I saw that.**

**Good, because I thought I was going insane.**

**That is another point totally.**

**Whatever man. The point is I didn't use eagle vision. But that…person, just saved my guts. And not to mention killed three guards in like the blink of an eye.**

**Perhaps it was a thief. One of Antonio's, Niccolo's?**

**We'll go over the footage we have and see if there is something else. Okay Desmond. Okay?**

**Yeah.**


	2. Chapter 2

_I slept today. I couldn't see the sun from where I lay, but the shadows are angled differently from when I last blinked. God it felt good. Despite the twist of my legs to fit into the sullen gondola it felt so good. Peering through the folds of my yanked up tunic neck I saw while I was getting interested looks from the passing gondoliers, none made to move me along – perhaps there was more than murder and apparent callousness in this city. The blessings continued this day, upon my slow awakening my chest was content to rise and fall slowly, not to get up the effort to expel its contents._

Though still possessing the air of sleepiness, the figure pulled itself upright, the thin boat not rocking wildly or enough to have balance lost. Without the ubiquitous and shapeless cloak more of the figure is apparent now. Twists and wraps of material covered ankle and slim instep. Grubby, even blackened toes shifted independently in the slight swell. Fraying pants stayed up only through the will of the wearer and the determination of the cloth belt slung around hips and waist. They now held only the barest stain the tailor and his dyes had imparted to the fabric. Mostly dirt, scrapings of grass and city muck marked the material. The tunic bore only a few dried blood spots closer to weak cuffs. But to the untrained unknowing eye, they were remains of manual labour, of mishap. Not the remains of violent murder. Wound around neck and head was a new stolen addition. Grabbed in an after thought from an inattentive laundress. As drab as the rest of the mellow and featureless outfit, it covered long brown hair, covered the slim neck and somewhat shaded from view the serious and earnest green eyes. Together the figure was androgynous, less than a face in the crowd. The red and white striped stakes dotted across the water beckoned and with ease the figure loped from one to the other, dashing up white washed steps and was gone. Only the astonished gaze of a fisherman echoed the surprise movements of the figure.

_It was getting easier to find those chests. Not so hidden roof top gardens, crowded bird feeders turned up sometimes more than one. After a few I finally got the courage to approach, in a roundabout, eventual fashion, the black garbed doctor, calling for business from beside his stocked stall. I had watched one once for an afternoon. He had sold and even attached leeches. It had been fascinating, and repelling – how would it know to release? But it and its brothers had, the doctor wiping at the slight seepage of blood from where their needle teeth had burrowed. The man had left and seemed well, but…_

The figure had been watching from the shadow of a stall awning, so far the doctor only selling simples and concoctions. It was only when the small piazza had nearly totally emptied in the hottest part of the afternoon, was it was enough. The figure detached itself from the corner of the building and moved towards the man. As he swung back from following the path of a sashaying courtesan he jumped. Their head was bowed, but it tilted up at him at his smothered oath.

"Dottore."

He couldn't tell if the speaker was a young male or a female, but he nodded. A hand lifted up, offering something, slowly the fingers unfolded and he gingerly took the scrap of material. Some of the blood that dotted it was new, some had dried scrunching the material.

"I cough a lot. Sometimes blood."

_It had been inevitable. But the blood letting was something that had to be done. It was a little fascinating, not as much as the leeches. Because he simply sat me down, waiting for me to roll my filthy sleeve before using a lancelet to open a vein in the crook of my arm. He held a basin underneath. It was a shallow container, but large. I hoped he wouldn't fill it. But he quickly deemed enough and pressed hard on the wound. It had made me sleepy, but I forced my eyes open. He whirled back to his stall and seemed to be busy mixing something. My heart fluttered queasily, but it didn't seem from the pain or the lack of blood. I shifted my feet, drumming them a little on the dirt. I didn't want to be here. Something had changed. Or was about too. I had made it to my feet before he turned, I managed to turn what had been a ready spin to run into a seemingly restless shift of weight. He caught the slight smile I offered, ducking my head again. He offered the vial, stoppered already. I took it, swapping it for probably too many florins. I had spun and was moving out and away before he had finished the bow he decided to offer me. A flock of pigeons were startled to flight as I ran through them. I tried to calm the race of my heart, to stop the attention I was getting. But right now it was all I could do to remember how to breathe._

The abruptness of the pigeons, the clapping of their slapping wings seemed to throw the figure. Their run turned into a stagger, more and more turned to look. The form spun, trying to find an exit, an escape, a hand pressed against their chest – looking to keep the rapidly beating heart within the fragile cage of bone. Suddenly the birds were gone and airborne. Suddenly between one wing beat and the next the figure was gone. People turned, mumbling to their neighbour, to the merchant of the disquiet in the city. How this was another sign of evil that had entered their quiet lives.

_My thudding footsteps weren't planned. I found myself just running, I leapt, trying to dodge the shadows that reared up at me. As I careened around a corner, rebounding off a rotund man I realised. The shadows were blots in my vision, not apparitions. My breath fled in a gulp and wouldn't return. I wanted freedom, I wanted sky. This new need powered purpose to my arms and legs. The stacked boxes gave me the start of my climb, the low balcony the next. A few body lengths up and I erupted into the sunlight. I closed my eyes, continued straining, reaching up, feeling the breeze, feeling the heat. I fell as my breath rushed back. But everything was aching, as fresh oxygen hit starved muscles they spasmed. I moaned and drew my limbs tight in, ignoring the sounds around me, only anchoring on to the bitter breath I had gained._

**Something's wrong.**

**Something else?**

**You said that after the accident that putting her in the machine would help her brain recover.**

**It was speculation. She is alive, that's all. We've had no data from her, only the physical signs we can measure. I am a scientist but even I couldn't say whether anchoring her in the animus would help. Perhaps its only prolonging the inevitable.**

**But…**

**I know. Despite the brain injury, she was in perfect condition. She was an athlete, a high calibre assassin Cath. But even with all our 'knowledge' sometimes it doesn't work out.**

**Can we get the others in?**

**You know the answer to that.**

…


	3. Chapter 3

_I have seen nothing as beautiful as the sky. Today nothing crosses it but the birds. No clouds stain that azure, no tracks show passage across that blue surface. Nothing but perhaps the sea could ever match its colouring. Nothing man made I suppose. Whatever that caused that terror and the n the consuming blackness, had left me. I could summon the will to find a purpose though when I had awoken. Instead I stumbled to an empty garden and simply lay on the grass. A girl had been the only one to frequent this place. She does not come now, I think perhaps she got married…She had seemed lonesome or lost, I hope she is happy. I am happy here – perhaps this man made garden can be beautiful but not perfect. There are plenty of artists in this city, unrecognition on street corners, even the yelling shouting heralds are artisans in their own way. The curve of a woman's hip in charcoal, the smoothness of a flower petal in pastel…I study my hands, lifting them into a back drop of blue. I twist them, studying their angle, their flex. What I had done before was beautiful, merging them with deadlier movements had been straightforward. I had found it beautiful in its own way. Final, but compelling._

_She demanded perfection. She acknowledged skill. I strived to give both. Not just to her, but to the brotherhood. Now when it seems to matter most, I will continue to do it. It seems a dream, all blurs and haze. I can't remember it, only a small shard of it stays. It holds a desire, a need to fulfil…something. I do have a purpose but it seems to be lost in an expanse of nothing blue. It is connected to something here. Perhaps if I find it I will remember anything, everything else._

The figure's hands dance above them, slender fingers twisting and bending. Their posture doesn't speak of indolence or laziness, but instead of purpose indecisive. A hand dips and re-emerges with a glinting glass vial, slick liquid rolling inside. The cork is easy to remove, with a reckless salute to the single eagle motionless in the sky, the vial is tipped back and liquid is swallowed.

_I tried not to taste it, even imagine what it was in that liquid. I pretended it tasted like grass…the smell of fresh mown grass. But in reality it didn't – only now did I think that for am affliction of the lungs shouldn't I have been given an inhalant? Despite the taste, the mere swallowing of what ever it had been, it has given me grounding. Now I simply wanted to watch. Sliding down ladders and dancing along narrow walkways until I was among them. I felt comfort in their anonymity, their numbers, their ignorance, I suppose. Here, right now it was simple. But ignorance is not safety, it is not a choice. It is merely the space between heartbeats. That ground between decision and indecision. I had made a choice – hadn't I?_

_I think that being born into the family I was, my choice was limited. Looking at, what some might say groomed to do, choice was an illusion. But I chose to take life, so our way is right, I did it so others did not have to._

_God, why can't I remember?_

_I've started hearing echoes. I thought it was just my thoughts, finally becoming too much to keep within my skull. But they occur in moments of stillness, of contemplation. Of rushed movement, smooth automatic movement. It can't be me? I'm not insane yet._

_Hello?_

**Charles! There is reaction. There, a spike.**

**There's nothing.**

**I'm not crazy. I can read this thing. There was a spike!**


	4. Chapter 4

_Everything is making me angry. No, not true. Mostly just the way that a few girls with few clothes can send a veritable mob of men, with weapons and an inferiority complex into a salivating mess. I watched, nearly falling from my bench as with a smooth move, the women sauntered towards firstly stoic armed men and in a matter of seconds have abandoned common sense and embraced the very root of manhood. It was like a moth to a flame. The catcalls and convincing coquettish batting of eye lids got the attention from most around. Including the other women, though for an entirely different reason. But for the cringe it induced from me, the timing couldn't have been better. For a few of the men had been guarding the only opening to a building I had been watching for the better part of two days. And now the doors were wide open, beckoning me. With the light from stained glass windows, it seemed the chests inside were highlighted. _

The figure stood smoothly, faces turned towards the movement, but eyes stayed upon the flashing flesh and posing women. It moved through those grouping around the building, only the edges of clothing and scarf touching. Inside the building it made no sound. Well trained fingers caressing locks, persuading lids to fall open. There was no time taken to count, to dredge among treasures. It was scooped and slid into clothing before those material wrapped feet moved surely out. It was purely chance that had made the courtesans move. The figure appeared in their midst, the women mumbling then screaming at the seemingly faceless apparition. Unseen eyes below the scarf took in the array of men and then the eruption of pointed weapons. It was a parody of motion, the courtesans fled, but the figure stayed still, the guards the same. Until at a shove from the back the figure blurred into movement. But not towards the men but to the side, one leg pushing their weight forward, both feet striking the ground before diving through an opportune merchant stall. The merchant yelled, the breaking of clay ware around the figure before it rolled in the dirt and was off sprinting.

_Though the breath sawed in my lungs, nothing rose to grip and strangle them. No dancing black spots appeared in my vision. I couldn't halt the gleeful chuckle that made it past my lips. In the back of my mind there was a voice that berated me and reminded me of the weapons and killers on my tail._ _So far I hadn't made it difficult for them to stay right behind me, possibly they even gained. But my eruption into a packed market would work for me. I had run, walked, studied, breathed these streets, these buildings. And the soaring feeling in my chest was happiness._

There was no reduction in the figure's speed; instead of those steps slowed they became more thoughtful. An abrupt corner was taken with two hands whipping the body around wooden pole, the rug seller reaching to grab the figure but it was gone. An idle group of thieves laughed and egged the figure on, pushing up from reclining on walls to watch the figure lead a group of sweating and staggering guards around the market. Never did the figure make a wrong turn, loaded servants and their fatter masters were danced around. More than one fell in a shoulder barge from a guard. Their laughs turned to curses and yells as the figure dove through them, behind them the ladder creaked but stayed upright as the figure leapt up the rungs, disappearing over the lip and continuing to run.

_From the shouting it seems that I will have not just guards after me but the thieves. But only if they can decide that I am the common enemy. The shout that stopped me actually saved my life. My toes skittered on the edge of the roof, a tile sliding out and sailing out and down the shatter on the stone courtyard several metres below. The windmill I did to push my weight and momentum back had none of the grace I had shown in the packed market, but it did stop me from a death below. I spun as soon as my balance was mine and was forced to stop. The archer had already drawn his bow, the tension obvious in the slight grimace on his face and the twitch in his arms._

Again the figure was motionless, well aware that any move could have the arrow released. The archer's straining movements were the only sign of tension on the rooftops. There was the slight tilt of the figure's head, as if hearing something. The archer did nothing, finally stammering,

"You have no business here."

He couldn't tell, but he could feel that gaze upon him. In a breath it all changed. The thuds of feet on the roof had him turning. The shouting salutation from a guard had his focus off the figure. The lapse in concentration was all it took. Then it was over. The figure went forward, the bow string slack, the aim wrong. One hand reached for the arrow, closing over the slim weapon close to the sharp head, the other reaching to grip the man's left ear and jaw. With a wrench of muscles, one hand spinning the arrow head and a terrible sound, the arrow disappeared into the man's neck. Bulging eyes showed his surprise and pain. His wrecked vocal chords did not give sound to his death and he fell slowly to the figure's feet. The shout turned into a furious roar as the guard sprinted towards the figure leading with his sword. The knife glinted, feet placed surely on the sloping roof, moving easily around the body. Tiredness, emotion and pain fuelled the guard. He was alone on the roof tops. But it was the last that helped him. Though the figure ducked, he brought the weapon around in a move it had not prepared for. It snagged on the scarf, the tip parting the fabric and slicing through the skin underneath. Diving away the scarf ripped from the neck. The figure stood and turned, the man's face still filled with anger, but utter shock.

"Tis a woman."

Green eyes narrowed, this time he wasn't fast enough. The knife disappeared to the hilt, angled up finding oh so easily the gap between ribs. Faster because of his shedding of the steel breast plate that would have saved his life. His eyes blinked rapidly, taking in the figure that he had caught and then lost. Green eyes looked at him with not anger, but resignation. Arms caught him as he lost feeling in his legs, bearing him next to his comrade. Her blood spattered his face, his hands patting at her cheeks. The woman released him and stood the scarf in her hand. Wrapping it around her neck she waited for the man's breaths to stop before she was gone.

_It didn't change the world. It was for a chest full of florins. I had nearly died for florins. Never mind for purpose. Nothing I had done in the last few hours had done anything for finding my purpose. I sat down on the jetty, looking out at the water in a way that could only be described as moodily. The wound I had received had stopped bleeding, but I had done nothing to hide the blood, the scarf still wound around my neck though I had pulled a swathe over to cover my hair and face. Anger at the amnesia of my LIFE! Flared and I hated myself even more such a pointless fury. Trying to sort through the enigma that was myself, I thought back on the whisperings. On the depth of otherworldly-ness that seemed to radiate from those sounds. While they frightened me, they drew me too, like I did know them. Had known them. That they were not the mumbles of my subconscious but something else. Homely? I'm not sure that is the word, but now perched on what seems the end of the world; they are an anchor in my mind._

"_Who are you?"_

_I didn't turn; I didn't want them to know that I had been so engrossed with my thoughts that I had heard nothing. It was a female voice, but not one that had been beaten into submission. One that had a barbed tongue. I stood and turned, not hiding the blood spatter nor the hilt of the knife at my waist._

"_I am a shadow."_

_I felt the wind of her movement and slid aside. A thief then, I did not remember seeing her face in the group I had used to slow my chasers. She was shorter than me, but I remember seeing that same flare of anger in another's eyes. I'm sure that it has been in mine before._

"_A shadow that nearly got my friends killed."_

_I felt the fury in that sentence. And I did flinch back. All her words were true, I didn't dispute them, but I also found myself uncaring._

The thief watched as the target moved onto the jetty, ignoring the looks from the drunkards who had succumbed to gravity, the fishermen and those bustling on boats. It had been hard to track them, but she had felt pressed too after finding those bodies. They were taller than her, just. There seemed to have been a lot of blood, still wet and showing through the dull brown the scarf had originally been. Darting forward she set her hands on her hips and thrust her chin out before calling the woman out. The killer hadn't seemed surprised, finally deigning to turn. The thief scoffed, a shadow? Shadows didn't leave behind bodies. But even as she thought this her mind turned to the other, the one that would sometimes appear in the corner of her room, would come smelling of fresh blood…She caught her self before her mind wandered too far and returned her attention to the…woman? There was the slight flash of a grin on her lips.

"You speak the truth."

She snorted. It was harder than she had thought, to pull something from the figure before her. Green eyes watched her lazily, not offering anymore, content to watch the thief stand aggressively.

"So shadow, why?"

A hand dipped and then offered out something. In the centre of the palm was single florin.

"You expect me to believe…for coin?"

"You are thief, it is money. Why should I care what it is or is not what you believe?"

"You remind me of another who dances around the truth."

The thief peered up, searching under the hood for a hint, for anything.

_She isn't afraid of me? After what she saw, are all here so unafraid of death? She is pretty, beautiful even. Curiosity spurring past her anger over her thief mates. It made me want to know her. I didn't drop my head, I didn't move, making her work for something else from me._

"_Do you need help? With your neck?"_

_She pointed hand to her own. I swallowed, feeling the pain at the movement._

"_No."_

_She seemed disappointed; perhaps she thought it would be that easy._

"_Hey Rosa!"_

_The girl-woman, flicked up her head. The voice coming from the boat piloted towards the jetty where we stood. The man in it must be a companion. Her name was Rosa then. The tirade against the man, Ugo? Was harsh, I saw him flinch back against the onslaught. I took a few steps back then turned, running to dash across the bobbing boats and gondolas, leaving this Rosa and her target to it. I wasn't so far away that I didn't hear her very impressive curse as she saw me leaving. I couldn't help but give her a sketchy salute before I disappeared into a crowd before a monotonous herald._

"_Cazzo!"_


	5. Chapter 5

_I followed her when I caught sight of her. Or when I saw someone that looked like her. It became a game, to while away the time until I could muster my thoughts. In truth though, I was afraid. Of those whispers that I couldn't understand. That if I did one day understand them I would learn something terrifying. If I thought along those lines, coming to the blot of tangles, the anger would turn to myself. What had I done to become such a blankness? It became a circle of thought. But each time I couldn't bring myself to press, to pull at threads. Instead I watched Rosa. It was like watching a symphony. The other thieves would crowd around her, laughing and calling jests as she spoke, her arms waving to describe something, giggling and smiling. Many made eyes at her, but despite ribbing, she seemed not to take them on. It frightened me, this comradeship. Being close enough to another, to call them friend. The conversation that I had sort of had when she had confronted me had been the longest I had held without coughing. Or even, ever._

The woman leant forward, her profile small in a crouch. Her outfit had been renewed, the scarf discarded and a long hood now in its place. Once more the figure was androgynous. It was pure ill luck, the eruption of pigeons from the open window below. The flew up, ignorant of the waiting watcher, wings buffeted the figure forcing them to stand and half turn. The commotion had the attention of the group below. Rosa focussed and smiled, a ready wave until she saw that the figure was not her assassino but, was it that woman?

"Hey!"

The figure jerked a head back, but their face was covered, all shadow. It watched her for a few breaths, until a few thieves took umbrage to this new possible threat. It was a huge jump from the standstill, but the figure committed to it with a savage will. Fingertips managed to grip the rickety scaffold, and with the harsh tightening of sinews and muscles pulled her body up. The next wasn't so simple. Fingers found the sill sitting proud of the building, but the next was too far. Knees were bent tight into her chest, toes nearly touching gripping fingers and then as if electricity shocked down her body she flung herself up, body taut and her fingers found the next. She was gone in the instant after.

_God I don't know why I fled. But I could not explain myself. There was nothing I could offer to justify my stalking of Rosa. Breath was tight not from painful lungs, but from panic. I used it too much, pushing my body further across gaps that I would have, should have only attempted if I had been chased once more. Tiles clacked, thuds sounded as I moved from wood to stone. Then the panic gave way to a perverse, odd sense of joy. I found myself running towards the scene of my murder those days before, but this time I was surer of foot and…I abandoned my thought, my running commentary. It was freeing, and I found the hold I had upon my mind loosened._

**Okay Cath. I believe you. But I have no reason for it and I can't understand it either.**

**Forget that, is there a reading on what's happening inside?**

**Not much. Here, take what we have and see if there is something in the information we have and the little we're getting from the others and see if there is a correlation. If any.**

_It came back to me with all the force of a stretched rubber band. It was blinding and I even screwed my eyes closed in a stupid attempt at some sort of protection. I made it to the other building, but the slow pitch to balcony, the floundering when I took the top of the balustrade in my stomach. I scrambled over the fence and knelt, trying to keep the meagre contents inside my stomach. I pressed my face to the cool stone and revelled in the cold._

It went from smooth and rhythmic to a near head long fall into an alley. But the figure stretched, reaching the metal fenced balcony and careened into it. The roll over the fence was done in pain and its continued presence showed in every line as the figure hunched over. A hand even reached to draw the hood back, mouth open and gasping. It hadn't gone unwatched. Above, far above, perched on the slight wooden stake a new figure swayed a little with the breeze. Around them an eagle soared, letting its call shatter off the angles of the massive church. The figure had greeted the bird with a smile as they had climbed. And once upon that vantage point their focus changed from all those faces and events in their mind to that one leaping over gaps and vaulting up ladders. It was beautiful, they hadn't watched another before, not like this. The sun flickered off the white and brown clothing. They were taken back as the figure suddenly seemed to lose whatever powered them, the stumble, the trip turned into a dive and it was only the automatic reaching that arrested the fall. With slow movements they disappeared from view into a roofed garden and he was left staring at the place they had been. They blinked in the sudden disappearance and stood. No one saw the figure slowly let their weight shift forward, arms lifting out and then they fell. Slowly they rotated, as if the fall was of no consequence. There were no screams as the figure landed, no jerks in surprise as it vaulted up and stalked away. The trailing of straw the only sign of passage before the wind swept them away.

_It was a strain to open my eyes, with a half bitten down scream I did so. Shadows seemed to invade my vision and I automatically lifted my face to the heat of the sun. Lurching to my weak legs I tottered to the balcony, half hanging over it. I could hear the crowds, but when my eyes tried to focus they were dull. Flickering through and around the deadened people was red. Though my mind gibbered at the sight, that rational corner studied them, pursuing this new sight. I tried to gather the rest, even more when I realised the red ones were figures, the lines were swords, spears held ready. Groups of three or four strode around the square. And there not red, but white. This one had no sense of purpose, but seemed to dwell at stalls, laughing ,speaking, haggling with merchants. This one was an anchor and I let my weight sink and I moved to crouch on my haunches, hands still above me, gripping the railing. I let me head turn, eyes never losing that white figure. This gave me a focus and my breathing eased and the pain that had dug claws into my stomach and back eased. Who is this one then?_


	6. Chapter 6

_This type of vision is slow to change. As I moved across the flat roves, darted across planks, shadow flitting briefly upon the roads of packed earth below, my vision was a staccato of black upon white. The humanoid shapes of red marching, strolling, those who were stationary. But also now those groups of blue. Normal vision reasserted itself but the knowledge that this other sight gave me stayed with me over the days that followed. But all the way through my sight and interest was always with that glowing, luminous shifting figure that had so caught my eye._

People where weary. More so than perhaps was usual. Darting eyes shifted to unknown shadows, unrecognised faces. It only served to make the figure more seemingly fluid. Sliding smoothly between crowded alleys, materialising in banks and disappearing again. And for the second time, saving another through the act of killing. It started with another morning of following him. With vision returned to normal, they could see his golden , just so locks, the spark of sunlight on his goatee, parting smoothly around laughing lips. His hands were fascinating, darting and shaping, moulding perhaps the air before him, other times nursing the words that bubbled from his mouth. Crouching only a single story above, hidden by shadows and a happenstance alcove, originally their eyes only for him. Until the feeling of vibrating deep in their ear, the recognition of running, no, fleeing steps. Cocking their head to the side like a bird, they saw now deep in his eyes his own flare of recognition as three rugged thieves shuffled through merchant stalls and untrusting shoppers.

_It happened in an instant, though that time since I first recognised the fleeing feet and his wide eyed understanding of the blurry apparition, slowed to a crawl. It was fear, or mayhap more than that which dug those white lines around his mouth or flared his eyes wide; that now stark circle of white around an artist's iris. He was in an instant of indecision, to flee or to fight. There was no way, not in my short time of observation and analysis that he could do the latter. And it would be folly for this one to attempt the first. His was a body for creation and beauty, and from what I had seen, laughter. But there was something even he was afraid of in the face of the shorter slimmer one who was leading the others. I made the decision for him. The jump down was nothing, in the split second before I landed part of my mind replayed that short glance back, face changed by alteration of light and movement. But I had seen that face before, several times, though perhaps not set in such an expression of dread. Rosa. The chasing men were dressed differently, moved differently. As I took the landing and leapt to his side I saw him make the wrong choice. _

The figure darted an arm through the folds of a merchant's silks, grabbing, barely, his other shirt sleeve as he made to run, turning his flustered first steps into a tumble forward. The steel like grip was mirrored on his other side as he stupidly panicked and clumsily fought to be free from this other unseen foe.

"Enough."

It seared through his brain, jerking his back straight in almost recognition. At that their grip was gone and his hands fell to his sides as if strings had been cut. The dangerous looking figure jumped o the merchant's desk, neatly vaulting, halting in their decided pursuit long enough to look back at him. He stumbled closer, though there was no true identification of the figure, what they represented seemed to echo something in his mind, and it showed on his face.

"Where do they run?"

His mouth didn't gape, his words came out fast.

"Closest is the Fox's hole, Antonio's is too far."

Peering forward and under that slightly drooping hood, he could see pale green eyes narrow, slim shaped lips pulled down into a frown as the figure's mind blitzed through the map held in the figure's mind. Suddenly they were focussed on him. T'was a female. Rag wrapped hands rose to grip the portico of the merchant's stall above and pulled that body onto the flimsy structure, it swayed as knees bent and pushed. A fling of the loose wrap and the billowing garment was cast off for quicker and smoother movement, falling to land before the shaking artist.

_It would have been impossible before I had seen the dottore. Impossible without full lungs of warm air. Above them I had a better view. They did not have the finesse of those they chased with such palpable anger. But the threat they represented was so blatantly obvious, though why would for now remain a mystery. As would my already cemented decision to kill those men, for Rosa or perhaps the white man who had given me something else in this brown and gold city. Four was enough, all timing would be tight, surprise would take care of one, perhaps even two. But if the others didn't abandon their chase in what would be such terrible murder of their men at arms, escape would impossible for the tiring thieves. The knife appeared in my fist as I danced across a rope ladder, convenient balconies and flower gardens guided me lower until I leapt. My toes turned into claws, digging into his armoured hips for purchase, in the same moments my left hand grabbed his hair and yanked sideways, the top of the knife entered his slightly craned neck and slipped out followed by an eruption of blood. His body sagged and my abandonment of his dying body turned into a forward roll and my balance was shaky until I thundered my feet into the ground and was in an instant sprint, this time my weapon held over hand. I darted around the next, even as he half heard my approach, always staying in his blind spot. Until I ran that razor-sharp blade just below the back of his knee. I felt the shattering ping as sinew parted. I slowed and watched as he automatically tried to take another step on his ruined leg. The sound he gave as it gave way was still terrifying no matter how many times I hear it, it is the same. As horrible as that sound was, it had the desired effect. Their attention was shifted instantly, spinning right around and abandoning their dead sprint. They focussed upon me as I loomed behind the fallen man and barely crouched above his back. I never stopping looking at them I needed their full attention on me. One hand grasped those thick sweaty curls and yanked his head up so even he looked at his comrades. The harsh nearly guttural sound that spilled as I cut his taut throat the only sound down alleyway. Blood thundered like rain from his severed artery and only when it started to diminish did I released his hair. That nerveless head splashing into the still growing puddle of his own blood. Anger transferred to me was what now drove these men and I welcomed, striding forward my only weapon a blood red blade, tiny as the two remaining men drew swords. They glinted yellow in the sunlight. Hopefully their emotions would drive them and this weakness would work with me._

It was a stand off, the figure patiently still, but extra alert – what could account for the confused stance of those men they faced, bar the gross deaths of their comrades now reduced to sacks of dead meat. The tickle left in the wake of breath wafted strands of hair gave them the reason. For the first time their face was now bare. The seemingly soft and safe visage of a woman was now showcased in a red backdrop of well executed murder. It was the perfect opportunity to strike. The forceful but slow move was deflected with an automatic reflection. But not the next few steps. Dancing and nimbly placed feet moved the slim body closer inside the guard's arms. A shuffle and turn opening his stance, until the combination of blade and rigidly held wrist had loosened then broken his grip. The sword now masterless, it swung in a lazy arc before the woman took it in her own hand. It darted out again as quick. Sunlight flashing first on blade then in the spurt of blade. But the last would not be duped by the face that had downplayed the threat she now no doubt represented. Even with the one sword in offence and defence against her two, it wasn't quite desperation that moved him, instead it was indignation.

_The sound of metal clashes rang out, longer and longer. It was the feeling of frustration that I could feel building. It shouldn't take this long. This one was nothing but an enemy. Perversely, the end – the cause of the end should help me gain the upper hand, but could also have me lost. The word stupid revolved like a mantra as I spun in defence. It must have broken through my stern lips for the man I faced started, but had me turning in defence, so he too could see what had be changing focus. The white man had appeared, not so afraid of the bodies, no he regarded these instead with macabre interest. My next reaction surprised me with the strength of my new anger. Perhaps it was a faked shuffle to the one I had one-sidedly 'befriended'. Designed to open me to an attack, or a real dart to cause harm. My small blade was imply abandoned, using my free and soft hand to try and bat away the attack. It served to slide deeply along the side of my wrist, the white cold shock as steel struck bone. But I kept it up. Using the pain to first lever, then capture his weapon, twisting the blades together before flinging it, and so his arm and guard, wide. Using both hands, slippery with blood, I brought the sword to enter near his navel, even with my fading strength I managed to rip it up; blood welling from his slack mouth. I knelt as he fell, taking the time I should have been using to put space between me and all this new murder scene, just breathing._


End file.
